


The Spaces Between My Fingers Are Where Yours Fit Perfectly

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana is a lot of things but one thing she isn’t is touchy-feely. In fact, whatever the exact opposite of that is, that’s what Santana would consider herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces Between My Fingers Are Where Yours Fit Perfectly

Santana is a lot of things but one thing she  _isn’t_  is touchy-feely. In fact, whatever the exact opposite of that is, that’s what Santana would consider herself. If she could find a way to never have to touch, hug, snuggle, cuddle, stroke, pet, pat, rub,  _whatever_  people, she’d rejoice. Seriously. She’d throw a fucking party. The only time she can deal with the touching is when her knuckles are meeting teeth or there’s some kind of orgasm in it for her at the end of it. 

So imagine her annoyance when she realized at a young age that her best friend turned present day girlfriend needs to be touching someone or be touched by someone at practically all hours of the day. Why God decided to make the two most seemingly incompatible people in the world fall in love, she’ll never know, but here she is, with the most touch-sensitive girl on the goddamn planet. 

Santana notices it right away too. The first time they meet, Brittany practically jumps on top of her and despite Santana shoving her off immediately, continues to keep them touching in some capacity for the entire time they’re together. It’s like having a super annoying fly buzzing around her head all day but she can’t seem to muster up the effort to swat at it. 

She can’t actually hit the girl in the face like she wants to but she makes her discontent as obvious as possible. Every time Brittany puts her hand on Santana’s forearm or bumps their shoulders together or plays with Santana’s hair, Santana’s eyes narrow and her mouth curls into a sneer almost immediately. It’s useless though because Brittany seems to remain blissfully unaware of it all, just keeps snuggling her head into Santana’s shoulder and tracing the lines on Santana’s hands. It’s either she’s unaware or she notices and just doesn’t care - Santana can’t really figure out which one is more accurate. 

Nevertheless, Brittany continues with the  _touching_  and suddenly, years later, Santana gets kind of, well, used to it. So used to it in fact, that when Brittany’s  _not_  running her hand down Santana’s spine, twirling dark locks between her fingers or kicking their feet together, Santana gets sort of discombobulated and out of sorts - like she doesn’t know how to deal with herself without Brittany’s body invading her personal space. It’s totally, entirely and completely ridiculous. And she hates it. 

So Santana notices pretty much right away when Brittany is mad at her about something. She notices because her hands feel unnaturally empty and useless and she’s hyper aware of all the empty space around her while the urge to punch walls and faces becomes almost overpowering. The first time she reaches for Brittany’s arm in the hallway and her girlfriend squirms away it becomes pretty obvious that something’s wrong and it puts Santana in about the worst mood possible. Sitting next to Brittany in class, her girlfriend actually manages to spend the entire time not looking at Santana or saying a word to her. It’s weird being inches from her best friend yet feeling miles apart. Then, to seal the deal, her mood hits rock bottom when Brittany just outright refuses to sit next to her in glee practice that afternoon. 

Which is why right now, in the choir room with Schue rambling on about some stupid idealistic agenda he has for the week, and Brittany on the other side of the room touching not Santana but  _Rachel_ , Santana’s pretty much occupied with plans to basically kill everyone in the universe. Her hands are cold where they grip the edges of her chair and she can’t stop fidgeting, her legs crossing and uncrossing. If she has to watch the way Rachel’s head rolls around as Brittany runs her thumbs over the girl’s shoulders she’s seriously going to chuck a plastic chair across the room. 

Not at Rachel of course because that would probably hit Brittany too and defeat the entire purpose of Santana’s life. She looks around. Maybe at Puck, sitting behind the pair and watching the display with as just as much interest as Santana but for a completely different reason. Yeah, Puck could work.

All of glee club is saved from flying chairs, however, when Schue claps his hands way too enthusiastically and repeats some stupid assignment for the week that Santana has absolutely zero interest in completing. The club stands up and shuffles around after they’re dismissed but Santana stays sitting, keeps her eyes trained on Brittany and tries to ignore the urge to walk up to her girlfriend and demand she stop giving Santana the cold shoulder. 

It’s so dumb too. All she did was egg Quinn’s car and stake her yard with condoms. It was fucking  _harmless_  and so pedestrian compared to her usual arsenal of tricks that Santana almost doesn’t want to be associated with it for fear her reputation will take a nosedive. Hell, Brittany has done worse shit herself and to people way less deserving that Quinn Fabray. Come on. Plus, she freaking did it for Puck. Ever since Quinn started dating Rachel it’s like the whole universe turned over on its head and Puck kind of lost his mojo all over again for some reason. So she was being a good bro and helping him out the only way she knows how. He’s like the only person in the school aside from Brittany that actually gets her - if she owed anything to anyone, it was Puck. The guy laughed so hard when they bought a supersize pack of magnum condoms and spread them over Quinn’s lawn that Santana knew it was so worth it. 

So what if the prank was kind of insensitive and so what if Quinn’s happy with the pint-sized glee freak or whatever. It was a  _joke_  and Puck deserved a little bit of revenge for what Quinn put him through last year. Then again, if Santana had known that the whole thing was going to give her this much grief with Brittany she would have offered the guy liquor and her copy of Modern Warfare 2 instead and called it a day. 

 _Whatever._  She’s not going to apologize to Quinn Fabray of all people no matter how much Brittany ignores her - that’s not how the world works. Plus, Brittany will come around; she always does, it’s just a matter of being patient enough until it happens. Which is about as fun as chewing on broken glass for Santana. 

She blows out a low breath and watches Rachel detach from Brittany and stomp over to Schue, spouting off some nonsense about practice schedules and set lists but all it really sounds like to Santana is _blah, blah, blah, blabbity blah._  It’s kind of funny though because Schuester gets this look on his face like he wants to run away and at the same time it looks like he’s contemplating how harsh the consequences would be for hitting students and Santana becomes totally amused imagining all kinds of scenarios for a Berry-Schue showdown. Her favorite is the one where Rachel breathes fire and Mr. Schuester’s hair explodes. 

She’s actually so completely focused on this that she doesn’t notice the rest of the club file out or Brittany send her a lingering glance on her way out or even Quinn walk over until she’s standing in front of Santana, hands perched on uniform covered hips. Santana jerks back when she finally sees Quinn and her lip curls at the sight of the Cheerios uniform now back over Quinn’s perfectly shaped shoulders. 

“What?” Santana sneers, standing and picking up her duffel bag before brushing past Quinn, their shoulders knocking together. Rachel’s voice is getting more heated and agitated from the corner but the noise gets drowned out as Santana reaches the door to the choir room and starts to walk out. 

The sound of Quinn’s footsteps follow her all the way to Santana’s locker and she rolls her eyes as she spins the dial on her lock. Some of Rachel’s penchant for the dramatic must be rubbing off on Quinn. Gross. 

“You know what,” Quinn says, her voice full of warning and censure befitting head cheerleader. It rubs up against Santana like coarse sandpaper. 

“I’m not actually psychic,” she replies, opening her locker and pulling out her math and lit books. “So either fucking clue me in or stop wasting oxygen in my vicinity.” 

“Fix whatever it is you did to Brittany,” Quinn orders as if she need only command it and Santana will follow. Well, fuck. Her. 

“Fix your face,” Santana retorts, slamming her locker closed and turning to walk away. 

“Clever,” Quinn mocks, trailing after her down the hallway. “Why don’t you stop being a bitch for about five entire seconds and apologize to Brittany.” 

Scoffing but not stopping, Santana shifts her bag on her shoulder and glances at the other girl. “Yeah sure, Q. I’ll get right on that.” 

“You know you want to anyway,” Quinn says and Santana wants to smack that arrogant tone right out of her so much that her fist clenches where it’s still holding onto the strap of her duffel. “So why not save us all the trouble of another week spent with your stupid standoff and just be a good person for once.” 

This time Santana does stop near the exit to the school and twirls to face Quinn, suspicion burning through her. “Why the hell do you care so much?” 

“Because it’s throwing off the balance of the club and because you both are clearly miserable,” Quinn answers, crossing her arms and challenging Santana to argue with an arched eyebrow. 

Santana and Quinn have been friends turned enemies turned careful allies for almost their entire lives so Santana’s really not one easily browbeat into submission by the blond. The whole raised eyebrow, pursed lips look thing Quinn thinks rules just about anyone doesn’t work so much on Santana Lopez. 

So instead of accepting Quinn’s ridiculous reasoning for investing herself in someone else’s welfare Santana just laughs and tells her with a look just how much she buys the shit Quinn just tried to feed her. “Smell what you’re shoveling there, blondie.” 

Quinn deflates just a fraction, but enough for Santana to notice and triumph surges through her. The blond girl glances down the vacant hallway and taps her foot up and down for a second on the tile, the sound echoing loudly. Santana’s bored nearly instantly. 

“Spit it out,” Santana orders. “I’d like to leave sometime this century. Unlike some people I actually have a life I’d like to get to.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Quinn stares at Santana, uncrossing her arms and propping her hands back onto her hips, the school letters emblazoned across her chest stretching with the motion. “She’s all over Rachel,” Quinn admits. 

Santana’s not entirely certain she heard Quinn correctly because she’s pretty sure Quinn just implied she wants Santana to apologize because she’s like, jealous, of Brittany or something. And that just further implies a whole array of things Santana just does not want to think about right now. Like Rachel Berry naked. Ugh, ew, just. No. 

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” she answers, wide eyed, before turning away and pushing on towards the exit to the school. 

“Just apologize,” Quinn orders, voice low. Santana halts for a second in front of the door. “Then I can get my damn girlfriend back and you can have yours back and I won’t have to scratch a good friend and teammate’s eyeballs out next time she runs her damn fingers through Rachel’s hair.” 

Santana’s head falls back on her shoulders and she turns around again to face Quinn, her butt up against the long handle to the door. “Brittany touches people,” Santana says. “She’s not trying to get into your midget’s pants so why don’t you just take a chill pill and stay out of my life.” 

Quinn exhales with obvious exasperation and flinches when the door the choir room slams open and Rachel comes waltzing out, striding towards her locker down the hall. Taking another step towards Santana, Quinn points a finger at the girl and lowers her voice. “We both know it bothers you just as much as it bothers me. It’s not like you hide your feelings about the matter very well so do us both a favor and figure your life out. If you don’t, I will make you wish you had.” 

Before Santana can say anything in return, Quinn is spinning around and taking off in Rachel’s direction. She doesn’t really want to stick around to see whatever disgusting public display of affection they have planned so she pushes back against the handle under her butt and moves out of the school building heading towards the parking lot. 

Fucking Quinn Fabray. Thinking she can just order people around again now that she popped her damn kid out and put a Cheerios uniform back on. What, like that just makes her top dog again?  _Bitch._  She knew that prank was totally worth it. Fuck, she should have done something worse. 

She fishes her phone out of her bag and flips it open wondering if Puck is free tonight but the stupid picture that appears as her background makes her breath catch and she curses whatever stupid part of her heart warmed enough to actually like  _miss_  someone. Despite wanting to do exactly the opposite, she thinks about what Quinn said to her and the way Brittany had picked Rachel to cuddle up to this week and she swallows when the memory of Brittany’s hands on her skin ghosts across her conscience. She hates that Quinn is _right_. She’s way too close to taking a bat to Berry’s kneecaps the next time Brittany puts her head in Rachel’s lap instead of Santana’s. 

It’s not even Brittany touching her that she misses. It’s that along with Brittany’s nearly insatiable need to be touching someone all the time, she pretty much likes to be touched an equal amount. Santana never really thought she’d ever  _want_  to touch someone as much as she wants to touch Brittany. And it’s not in the way people would suppose she wants to touch Brittany - though let’s be clear, touching Brittany when they’re both naked and sweaty? Totally at the top of her priority list. 

But it’s way more than that. It’s just...Brittany’s all blond hair, and toned muscle and soft skin and Santana just  _likes_  touching her. The past week, falling asleep alone without the feel of Brittany’s skin under her fingertips was an almost impossible feat. She managed just fine though because she’s not  _completely_  lame and she can actually like survive without Brittany; she just doesn’t really  _want_  to. And frankly, Santana is used to getting what she wants. Or not getting what she doesn’t want. Or something.  _Whatever._  

By the time she gets to her car and throws her books and her bag in the back seat, Santana is totally absorbed in thoughts of Brittany and their stupid fight and how she can apologize to her girlfriend without actually, you know, apologizing, that she doesn’t even notice another person walking up to her until a soft voice warbles in her ear. 

Santana practically hits her forehead against the top of her car when the softly spoken, “Hey,” breaks through her reverie. 

Brittany’s giggling by the time Santana turns around, hand to her forehead and wincing, but the sound makes Santana smile a little. Not too obvious though because that might give someone the impression that she has an emotion other than complete indifference towards the entire world. 

“Hi,” Santana deadpans, shuffling her feet a little as she leans back against her car and brings her hand back down. She forces herself to remain calm despite the fact that this is the most she’s talked to her girlfriend in about four days and she’s practically chomping at the bit to reach out and grab Brittany. 

“What’re you doing?” Brittany rocks back and forth, hands clasped behind her as she tilts her head to the side and observes Santana with a soft smile. 

“Leaving,” she answers, biting her tongue against the  _want to hang out?_  that’s clawing to make its way out of her mouth. 

Then again, Brittany’s kind of her favorite person for a reason. “Want to hang out?” 

Regardless, she can’t stop her eyes from going wide because she’s still a little confused. After trying to come up with a plan to fake apologize to her girlfriend she never thought she’d  _actually_  get out of this without even mustering up the effort to put the plan into action. “Do I want to what?” 

Brittany takes a step forward and reaches out to tug on the bottom of Santana’s uniform top appealingly. “You know, hang out.” 

“Aren’t you, like, mad at me or something?” Santana swallows and looks around suspiciously. Maybe she did hit her head and she’s lying on the pavement unconscious right now. Fucking great, there’s a TV special on the making of  _Titanic_  that she totally wants to see tonight and instead she’s going to spend the night sleeping in the vacant school parking lot. 

“Mmmm,” Brittany hums, stepping even closer and bringing up another hand to twist around the back of Santana’s ponytail. She feels the tugs on top of her head and resists closing her eyes against the feeling. “I was, but I think I’m done now.” 

Santana’s hands reach out and grasp Brittany’s hips, her thumbs running under the hem of Brittany’s uniform top and she can’t deny how much she loves the way Brittany’s eyes flutter a little and her whole body seems to move towards Santana. “I’m glad,” she whispers, eying Brittany’s lips and feeling grateful that their detente had finally arrived. 

Arms moving to rest on Santana’s shoulders, Brittany laughs under her breath and smiles. “Yeah?” 

Her hands slide backwards to rest at the small of Brittany’s back and she brings their bodies together, warmth shooting all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Yeah,” she repeats, struggling to keep her lips from smiling. 

“What you did to Quinn was still mean,” Brittany pouts, her fingers plucking at Santana’s hair, swinging it back and forth. “She’s our friend.” 

“I  _am_  mean, babe,” Santana says, rolling her eyes up briefly. “And Quinn’s a stuck up bitch that deserved it.” 

Brittany chuckles and presses her pelvis into Santana’s, biting her lip and making Santana hate the fact that they’re in a parking lot right now. “What did she ever do to you?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana’s jaw drops open. “She  _exists_ ,” she answers. 

This time Brittany rolls her eyes and Santana almost laughs before Brittany brings their faces closer together and scratches her nails against Santana’s scalp, totally ruining her perfectly shaped Cheerios ponytail and pulling the breath right out of her. “I like you better when you’re not talking,” Brittany whispers. 

Having Brittany this close to her again, all pressed up against Santana’s body with her hands on her head and the smell of her skin filling up her nostrils is making Santana feel a little light headed. She’s pretty sure she’s supposed to be super annoyed and offended at whatever Brittany just said but she’s entirely distracted by Brittany’s bare calf rubbing against her own and from the look on Brittany’s face her damn girlfriend is perfectly aware of that fact. She needs to get them to a house with a couch or a bed or a table or a fucking floor so she can strip the red and white fabric off Brittany and press against her, bare skin to bare skin. She wants it so bad that her hands are pulling Brittany closer before she can even think about it. 

Their foreheads press together and Santana takes a deep breath, “Can we go?” There’s just enough whine in the question that she wants to bang the back of her head against the car until she blacks out. 

Brittany laughs again and opens her mouth but before any sound comes out a noise from the doors Santana just walked out of startles them both and they look over to see Rachel and Quinn walking out, Rachel talking about a mile minute while Quinn merely glares in their direction, a triumphant smirk on her face. Santana almost wants to push Brittany away just to deny Quinn the satisfaction of their reconciliation. 

But Brittany shakes her head and steps away from Santana, her hand trailing down a tanned arm to tangle their fingers briefly and squeeze Santana’s hand before letting go and walking around to the other side of the car. Brittany’s in the car before Santana has a chance to even turn around but when her body catches up to her brain she sends one final look of contempt towards Quinn and Rachel before pulling her door open and sliding in the driver’s seat. 

The ride to Santana’s house is relatively silent but it doesn’t bother her in the slightest because before they even leave the school parking lot Brittany pulls Santana’s hand into her lap and spends the whole drive tracing shapes along her skin. 

Her parents work through the afternoon which means they have the house to themselves so Santana pulls Brittany straight through the front door and right up the stairs once they get there, not stopping until they’re at Santana’s room and inside. Giggling, Brittany bounces in the room past Santana and pulls them both until they’re falling on the bed, gasping for breath. 

Silence falls again after Brittany’s laughter tapers off and they’re left facing each other on their sides in the middle of Santana’s big bed. Brittany reaches a hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind Santana’s ear before reaching further back and pulling out the elastic that holds the ponytail together. 

“I like your hair,” Brittany whispers like it’s some kind of secret, running her fingers through dark strands and tugging out the tangles. Santana presses her head further into the pillow and breathes in. There’s something peaceful about being here, hidden from the world by the four walls of her room with Brittany’s hands on her that Santana thinks she could never leave and be entirely happy for the rest of forever. 

There’s some pretty hot and heavy make up sex that Santana wants to get to, but just being able to reach out and touch Brittany right now is distracting her enough that she’s not solely focused on the quickest way to get off. The best thing about Brittany’s constant need to be touched is that the girl is hyper sensitive, super responsive to just about anywhere Santana touches her. Sometimes she thinks she could spend hours just touching Brittany, watching every response flicker across her face and in the changing shades of blue in her eyes and just do nothing but watch and touch. 

Brittany’s hand travels down until it’s resting at Santana’s hip, stroking against the red fabric of her skirt and Santana swallows at the motion, embarrassingly grateful to have it back in her life. 

It’s not something she admits easily, but the truth comes bursting out of her before she can clamp down on it. “I missed you,” she mumbles, reaching a hand out to give Brittany’s ponytail the same treatment Santana’s got. The smile Brittany gives her in response is totally worth the sappy confession. 

“Yeah,” Brittany breathes, closing her eyes and squirming closer as Santana’s hands scratch against her scalp. “Me too.” 

Brittany presses their lips together for the first time in four days and it all sort of escalates from there in a hazy fumble of soft touches and lazy kisses. They’re naked and panting before she’s even aware of what’s happening. 

The fabric of her comforter sticks to Santana’s back as Brittany presses down on top of her, a smooth thigh shifting in between Santana’s leg and pushing against hot, sensitive flesh, pulling the breath right out of her in a heavy gasp. 

Laughing, Brittany cants her hips again and rocks forward, ghosting her lips over Santana’s. “Can you come like this?” 

Eyes narrowed, Santana scratches her nails down Brittany’s back and loves the strangled sound it gets out of the girl. “No,” she answers, but then Brittany presses down again and the heat coiling at the base of her spine definitely says  _yes._  “Fuck,” she lets out and Brittany’s laughing again, pressing harder and faster until her orgasm is punching out of her hot and fast, Brittany still laughing uncontrollably above her. 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, her mouth feeling thick as she grabs Brittany’s hips and rolls them over. Brittany’s eyes are smiling and that deep blue Santana’s come to know means love and want and her stomach flips over when she sees it. Sighing softly, she presses her lips to Brittany’s neck, right below her jaw, smiling when hands grip into her hair and pull her closer. 

It gets intense after that, Brittany’s hands sliding over Santana’s back and her own fingers trailing over Brittany’s hip bones and up the inside of Brittany’s thighs until her girlfriend is heaving air in through her mouth near Santana’s ear. 

Brittany’s hand shakes where it’s perched on the small of Santana’s back as her girlfriend’s entire body jerks with the force of her orgasm and Santana feels a calm wash over her as she collapses forward and rests her head in the crook of Brittany’s neck. 

Laughing, Brittany squeezes her arms around Santana’s back and rocks them together slightly. “That was good,” she says brightly. 

Santana laughs in response and lifts her head up, sliding slightly to the side out of Brittany’s embrace to prop her chin in her hand and stoke her free hand down Brittany’s face, twisting her fingers around blonde hair. “Yeah,” she agrees. 

Suddenly and without much warning, Brittany flips over to her stomach, pushing against Santana’s body and nearly whipping her in the face with her hair. Brittany squirms down into the bed, facing Santana and she smiles up at her engagingly. “Back rub,” she orders. 

It’s practically a post-sex ritual for the two of them so Santana doesn’t say anything, just settles down farther on the bed so she’s next to Brittany and lifts her arm to run her fingers down Brittany’s spine. A happy, satisfied sound leaves Brittany’s lips as the blonde closes her eyes and snuggles into her pillow, smiling. 

It’s so stupid how happy it makes Santana that she kind of wants to roll her eyes at herself but that would be pretty purposeless and, honestly, she actually doesn’t care that much because Brittany’s skin is warm under her palm and she’s just so glad to be doing this again. A calm sleepiness seeps into her bones and she brings her face close to Brittany’s on the pillow and yawns.

Her fingers trace softly over the bones of Brittany’s shoulders and then down farther to the muscles at the small of her back, loving the way Brittany’s skin twitches under the pads of her fingertips. She breathes in deep and smiles because even though her arm is going to start aching in a few minutes Brittany has this look on her face that makes Santana want to keep touching her for about the rest of her life and then some. 

She shifts a little closer to Brittany and runs her fingers briefly through blonde hair. It might be the fact that she’s always kind of sappy after a good orgasm or maybe because she wants to make sure that the next glee club practice Brittany snuggles up to her instead of Rachel, but whatever the reason the words drop out of her lips before she can stop them. “I’m sorry about Quinn,” she whispers. 

Brittany hums a little through her smirk but doesn’t open her eyes, just wiggles her back around in silent command. “Back rub,” she repeats. 

Santana laughs and traces her nails lightly over Brittany’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, yeah,” she jokes in a soft voice. “I love you too.” 

Brittany falls asleep moments later but Santana stays awake long after, her fingers spelling out her name over Brittany’s back for long stretches of time. 

The next day at school Brittany keeps Santana’s hand in her lap practically the entire day and all throughout glee club. It takes supreme effort to not smile like a complete and total idiot so Santana puts all her strength into glaring even more at everyone all day. Brittany picks up on it when Santana practically trips a smirking Quinn later that afternoon in glee. 

“What was that about?” Brittany asks, plucking Santana’s fingers up and down absently. 

“She’s being a bitch,” Santana seethes under her breath, “because we made up and you’re back to cuddling up to me.” 

“Oh,” Brittany says, looking at Quinn and then down to their conjoined hands. “Sorry,” she mutters, dropping Santana’s hand and moving away slightly. 

“NO!” Santana half-shouts, making the whole choir room whip their heads around at her. She cuts them all a piercing glare until they turn around before grabbing Brittany’s arm and pulling her back in. “You’re fine. Promise.” 

Brightening instantly, Brittany picks up Santana’s hand again and shifts their chairs closer together so she can run her fingers up Santana’s arm. Quinn laughs at them from down the row but Santana is just so over caring about what Quinn Fabray thinks; especially considering that at the moment Rachel is so close to the blonde cheerleader they’re practically sharing the same chair. So she just rolls her eyes, presses her lips quickly and stealthily to Brittany’s temple and focuses on not paying attention to whatever Mr. Schuester is babbling about for the next hour. 

She so does  _not_  smile like a fool when Brittany hooks her foot around Santana’s ankle and whispers the lyrics to the song they’re rehearsing into Santana’s shoulder, long, strong fingers tracing the shapes of Brittany’s initials into the palm of Santana’s hand. Nope.


End file.
